Today was Kite Day at Arthur's school. I volunteered in his classroom, something I often do while Balin is in Friday Playdate. Since the school year is drawing to a close ("Seven days left, Mommy," Arthur reminded me today), this would probably be the last time I helped out in his first grade classroom.
The kites flapped and strained against the breeze of the upcoming storm, the rain holding off for first grade recess. Perfect kite weather, actually, and I admired them up there, unfettered and free.
Several of Arthur's friends greeted me and then ran off. A few stayed nearby to talk. One of his classmates pulled out a Lego minifigure wearing a Clone trooper body and a mad scientist head and held it out to me saying, "This is my favorite Lego guy." Then we sat down on the black plastic border between the grass and the playground mulch and watched the kites.
I could only stay for a short while; I needed to pick up Balin from the Y. I said my goodbyes and started off toward the building to sign out when it hit me: someday soon Arthur would be flying those third grade kites. Then Balin.
Someday all those kids won't be interested in me, Arthur's mom. I'll get no hugs when I enter their classroom or hear their excited stories about how they saw me or Arthur around town. They'll be far too busy hanging with their friends or skipping school or participating in extra-curricular activities or acting older than they actually are.
I found myself overwhelmingly sad at the thought and I nearly entered the building in tears.
A part of me believes that my kids will always need me - like a kite needs a breeze to fly - but someday they'll be on their own. Without me. To them, I'll be just another memory, and as I sit here with tears streaming down my face, I accept that.
Blessed be.
The kites flapped and strained against the breeze of the upcoming storm, the rain holding off for first grade recess. Perfect kite weather, actually, and I admired them up there, unfettered and free.
Several of Arthur's friends greeted me and then ran off. A few stayed nearby to talk. One of his classmates pulled out a Lego minifigure wearing a Clone trooper body and a mad scientist head and held it out to me saying, "This is my favorite Lego guy." Then we sat down on the black plastic border between the grass and the playground mulch and watched the kites.
I could only stay for a short while; I needed to pick up Balin from the Y. I said my goodbyes and started off toward the building to sign out when it hit me: someday soon Arthur would be flying those third grade kites. Then Balin.
Someday all those kids won't be interested in me, Arthur's mom. I'll get no hugs when I enter their classroom or hear their excited stories about how they saw me or Arthur around town. They'll be far too busy hanging with their friends or skipping school or participating in extra-curricular activities or acting older than they actually are.
I found myself overwhelmingly sad at the thought and I nearly entered the building in tears.
A part of me believes that my kids will always need me - like a kite needs a breeze to fly - but someday they'll be on their own. Without me. To them, I'll be just another memory, and as I sit here with tears streaming down my face, I accept that.
Blessed be.
0 comments: